CW // anxiety vomiting, disordered eating(?) (unsure it it counts, just look out and be safe) jack just fuckin SUFFERS in this one
///
Breakfast.
Lunch.
Dinnertime.
Lunch was usually the easiest meal of all for him. He was surrounded by other things. Like Dave and his boss. He didn't have to focus on...well, other other things. Like Dee. Or Peter. Or Mom and Dad. Fuck, now he was thinking about them again.
"Old Sport? Somethin' wrong with yer stomach?"
Jack snapped back to reality, and he noticed he was clutching his stomach. He was sitting in a booth in the dining area with Dave. He felt sick. Was his throat always this sour tasting? "No, why?" He forced out. "Well, uh, you're holdin' on for dear life. Need me to help ya out or get a water or somethin'...?" Dave stood up and offered a hand, but Jack gestured dismissively. "Nah, I'm just sick. Some grubby kid probably gave me the black plague or the flu. I'll be back at it tomorrow, I just need to rest today." He smiled. "If ya say so, Doctor Sportsy!" Dave pointed his index finger and sat back down.
And they kept talking for a while.
Until Jack went home.
Then it was dinnertime.
It was dark out by now, and Jack had just tore open a frozen meal. He mashed a few buttons on the microwave and watched as the food spun around and around. It felt like an eternity before he actually got to open the microwave door. He quickly placed the hot plate down at the table, wincing at his burnt hand. He sat down and picked up his fork.
And then he made the mistake of looking up.
He saw the framed photos. Mom, Dad, Dee, Peter. There was a pit in his stomach. His mouth went dry. Guilt piled up in his throat, preventing him from opening up his mouth to take a bit of the week-old food. It was gross, anyway. He stood up and simply put the plate of food back in the freezer. He'd eat it later. He made his way upstairs. He clicked off the lights at the top of the stairs, and the taunting smiles of those family photos were replaced with darkness.
He got into bed and slept.
Until his alarm rang.
Did he even sleep? It felt like a mere 5 minutes.
He noticed hands holding him close. Purple hands. He groaned. "Dave, you- get out of my bed, I have to shower." He pried the other man off of him. Dave simply huffed and turned over. Jack rolled his eyes. "I can see you'er in a mood today," He stretched a bit as he stood up and walked to go shower.
For some inexplicable reason, Jack just knows today will be a bad day. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. Something was bound to go wrong, and he couldn't tell what. And it was bothering the hell out of him.
The rest of the day was mostly blurred together, but Jack returned to his senses when he realized he was in the bathroom of Fazbender's, retching up his guts into a dirty toilet. His stomach churned. He coughed and spat. His mind reeled and his chest constricted. Why was he like this? He wiped his mouth and clutched his stomach, walking out of the bathroom. He noticed the virgin staring him down and briefly flipped him off and smiled gingerly. He trudged over to his phone-headed boss. "I'm leaving early. Nothing in the rules about that, right?" He announced, half-hopeful. "What makes you think I'm going to let you leave early? Today isn't exactly a slow day." The suited man crosses his arms. "I will puke all over this goddamn floor if I have to." Jack glared. The suited man, baffled, takes a step back. "Don't, these- these are new shoes, let me have one good thing-" He said quickly. Jack squinted. "So? Can you let me l-" "Yes, yeah, fine, sure, just go." Steven ushered him out.
So Jack's plan worked. And he got to go home. And he just crashed into bed and buried his face into the pillow.
Tomorrow is another day.
///
word count: 709
yeahg.
